Keep What You Kill
by The Black Sluggard
Summary: Riddick offers answers. Vaako should have been more curious about the questions. Sequel to "Til Underverse Come". Slash, Riddick/Vaako


"If I killed your wife, how much would you miss her exactly?"

Riddick said it casually, and with a smirk. If it had been any other breeder Vaako would simply have assumed he was joking, but with Riddick it was often very difficult to tell. That had been true of the Furyan even from the beginning, but ever since their new Lord Marshal had made his path through the Threshold it was even more so. And if those strange metallic eyes had always been a challenge to read, since his transformation into Holy Half-Dead, Riddick had developed a way of looking at people that seemed almost to pierce _through _them.

It was...unnerving to say the least.

_Breeder_. Vaako chastised himself for that—application of that term to his Lord Marshal fell just short of blasphemy—yet even after his transformation, it was difficult not to still think of Riddick as such.

Before, Vaako had never given much credibility to the stories he had heard about the Furyans—their more-than-human savagery and animal cunning. Yet, after his first encounter with Riddick, it had become impossible not to believe them. Somehow, even in honoring Necromonger tradition by completing his pilgrimage to Underverse—his sole concession, and a grudging one at that—Riddick had managed to make a mockery of their holiest of sacraments. As expected, their new Lord Marshal had returned from beyond the Threshold a colder, stranger thing. Yet rather than tempering the Furyan's vital edge as hoped, Vaako feared that Riddick's experiences had merely sharpened it...

He felt it was only a matter of time before the Furyan saw fit to remind the Necromongers how to bleed.

With all of this firmly in mind, Vaako wasn't sure why the question had alarmed him—it certainly wasn't out of affection for his wife. But a Necromonger with his mind set upon such a conquest would never have risked that warning might reach his rival's ears by announcing his intentions. Of course, Riddick had made it painfully clear that, whatever his position and however much he had changed, he would never truly be one of them. And Riddick would more than likely relish the challenge of whatever resistance Dame Vaako might muster in defense of her own life, as if their deadly clash of wills were some kind of game.

As if Vaako was merely a prize to be won.

And there was no use fooling himself about where Riddick's interests lay, for Vaako was well aware that they too had sharpened in the wake of the Furyan's transformation. Though that sharpness in itself was such that, whatever Riddick's smirk might have fooled anyone else into believing, Vaako knew with a deadly and immediate certainty that the outcome of that contest would be as important to the breeder as life itself...

Only three days ago, Riddick had asked him a different question.

It had been only moments after the rite had finished. Upon his waking, Riddick had quickly dismissed everyone else from sight, allowing only his First-Among-Commanders to remain. Yet, even once he and Vaako had been left alone in the ritual chamber, the Furyan had remained silent for several minutes after, leaving Vaako uncertain of what was expected of him.

"Do you want to know what I saw, Lord Vaako?" Riddick had asked him, finally.

Vaako had remained kneeling as the others departed and kept his eyes averted, though only at first. It was expected to show such deference to one who had looked beyond the Threshold, but at the same time the being which stood before him was still Richard B. Riddick. Oh, he was so much more than that, now, but if Vaako was still capable of recognizing anything at all in the Furyan's mirrored gaze, it had been how very little had changed. That first, brief glimpse upon Riddick's waking had already shown him that much, and when Vaako had lifted his own eyes to meet that dissecting stare and seen _satisfaction _reflected back at him, it was all the confirmation he could have needed.

Yet there had been expectation in those eyes as well, and Vaako had been unsure how to meet it, and just as unsure how to answer his question. Vaako had had the vague sense that this was another of Riddick's tests—because always and in everything he tested those around him. Every conversation and every encounter was a way of gauging strengths, finding weaknesses. Vaako wasn't sure whether that was a Furyan trait, or a convict's trait, or simply a trait of Riddick himself, but he did know that—against all sane logic—the idea of being found _wanting _always scared him far more than it should.

"My Lord Marshal?" Vaako had finally managed, choosing to voice his confusion rather than risk some fatal misstep.

Though Riddick's lips had pulled into a faint smirk, for a few moments his examination had continued uninterrupted, and it was in those moments Vaako had first noted the new, piercing quality of his stare—as if he were seeing more than what simply lay before him. With no way of knowing what the transformation might have laid open to the Furyan's sight, Vaako had found himself feeling oddly naked beneath his scrutiny.

"It's not a tough question, Vaako," Riddick had said finally, slowly, favoring him with one of those smiles that somehow managed to be as playful as they were predatory. "I asked if you wanted to know what I saw. Bet a true believer like you would _kill _for a glimpse of what it is you're fighting for..."

And as Riddick took a step toward him, Vaako had been forced to choose whether he would remain on his knees or stand. He had not yet been given permission, and if it had been Zhylaw before him Vaako would not have dared, but Lord Marshal or not, the thought of letting Riddick tower over him in such a vulnerable position—submissive, surrendering, _weak_—felt wrong. And when Vaako finally stood, looking the other man in the eye, rather than seeming to take offense at the presumption, Riddick seemed oddly pleased.

"But then you did try, didn't you?" Riddick taunted, with a daring smirk. "I just beat you to it."

While he knew he was being baited, Vaako didn't feel as if it were a challenge or insult. As if Riddick were pushing with the expectation—no, with the _desire _that Vaako push back. And, as he had searched Riddick's eyes trying to understand that, Vaako had managed to see something else in the Furyan's gaze, something he had missed—

_Want_.

Starved, possessive, desperate, and burning, Vaako had never seen anything like it. Though outwardly he had kept his composure, the sight had stolen Vaako's breath away in surprise, and driven off any thoughts he might have entertained toward a reply. And he had suddenly found himself painfully aware of how little space remained between himself and Riddick—and aware that Riddick still stared at him, expectantly, patiently.

_Hungrily_.

"I'll ask you one more time, Vaako," Riddick said, his voice low, rough and quiet as it filled he space between them. "When I looked into oblivion, do you want to know what it was I saw?"

And while he had felt that this, too, was a test, Vaako had no sense of what, precisely, he was being tested on, or how he should answer. To question Riddick on what his half-death had revealed would have been an outrageous blasphemy—yet, all the same, Vaako could not have denied being tempted by the Furyan's offer.

In sharp contrast to his wife's machinations and the rabid ambition which fueled them, Vaako's own motivations had always been uncomplicated and clearly defined. He served the fleet and he served the Lord Marshal in the name of Underverse, and he would continue to do so until his due time. Yet in spite of his unwavering faith—or, indeed, perhaps, because of it—there had always been a part of him that had envied Zhylaw. An envy born, not from desire for rule or a need for proof, but from the simple desire to look upon that to which he had dedicated the entirety of his being.

Riddick had chosen to dangle that knowledge in front of him, though for what reason Vaako couldn't know. With what he had seen in Riddick's eyes, Vaako half thought if it might be some kind of enticement—a bribe or a gift meant to secure his favor. Yet caution and logic demanded he be wary...

For it could just as easily be bait to some trap which Vaako had not the means to see.

Yet, while his rational mind was occupied in dissecting Riddick's motives and debating the risks, it seemed a very different part of him that answered. The part of him that had recognized the need burning hot in Riddick's eyes, the part which still remembered the passions he had once been subject to before his conversion—a part that Vaako had though Purification had long since silenced.

"Yes," he had said.

And Vaako had known that the word—a whisper echoing up from that weak and shameful part of him—had been given in answer, not to his Lord Marshal and the promise of knowledge or to the Half-Dead deserving of his worship, but to _Riddick_and to the still unspoken offer Vaako had read in his silver eyes.

Riddick had also known this. Riddick had known, and he had _smiled_as he leaned in to whisper an answer of his own.

"_You_," Riddick had told him, a dark, amused undercurrent humming in his voice. "I saw _you_."

And then Riddick had brushed past him, leaving Vaako alone in the ritual chamber.

Vaako had hardly seen him over the course of the days that followed. With the ritual complete, Riddick's authority over the Necromonger fleet could not be disputed without his promotion to full-dead, but there had still been several details which had needed seeing to. As one of the fleet's chief commanders, Vaako had found himself just as busily engaged, but his every spare moment had been spend thinking back over that last encounter.

Part of him burned coldly at the memory, seething with embarrassment at the weakness he had shown, and concerned that he might have undermined his position with the Lord Marshal in showing it. Another part blamed Riddick, angry with the man for toying with him and wondering just what the Furyan had sought to gain from it. Yet, another part—a part he had been trying with a painful lack of success to ignore—simply waited. Patient, silent, and certain, that traitorous part of him seemed content to sit back, careless of having shown such vulnerability.

_Wait and see_, it seemed to whisper. _Have faith._

And it was that last demand which had left Vaako feeling the most foolish of all. If there were a single trait in which Vaako had never been lacking, it was faith. His very strength was built upon it. Faith had rescued him, lifting him up from his weakness. It had carried him through his conversion and forged him, in mind and body, into one of the finest weapons in the Necromonger fleet. But the sort of faith being demanded of him now was entirely different, and however that soft, betraying part of him begged and pleaded, Vaako knew better than to heed its counsel. No, faith he held in abundance, but there was no better way to _lose _faith than to invest it in any man—even the anointed leader of the Necromonger fleet.

Zhylaw's corruption—and the cowardly lengths to which he had gone to escape his due end—had proven that easily enough.

Such were his thoughts and his convictions when, three days afterward, Riddick ordered his chief commander to remain in the Necropolis with the apparent goal of seeking Vaako's opinions on the murder of his wife. Still off balance from their last private encounter—and still stinging from his embarrassment therefrom—Vaako weighed both the question and his circumstances carefully, determined to proceed with great caution.

Looking up into Riddick's eyes where the Furyan sat on the throne, Vaako tilted his head slightly, asking permission to rise in his Lord Marshal's presence. With a nod and a satisfied smile, Riddick gave it.

"I would not miss her greatly, my Lord Marshal," Vaako answered, simply. The answer was direct in the way he knew Riddick favored, though by using his title, Vaako managed to maintain a sense of distance between them. "I have grown tired of her, though not enough to seek her end myself. After Zhylaw's death, I offered to dissolve our alliance civilly, but she refused, unwilling to bear the shame."

By tradition, if a Necromonger's spouse displeased them then it was their duty to see them removed, by one means or another. Amicable dissolution of a marriage union was not uncommon if those involved intended to remain allied socially or politically, otherwise it was considered the weaker of the two options—thus his wife's refusal. While his Dame had her virtues, over the course of their marriage they had each grown unsuitable for the other's needs. With his offer declined, Vaako knew it was only a matter of time before he could look forward to his Dame's attempts at securing a proper divorce.

"Good to know," Riddick said, with a slow smile.

Yet Vaako's mention of shame had brought a new thought into his mind—simply, the reminder, that by Necromonger standards, Riddick had none. It was therefore unlikely that shaming him—tempting Vaako into exposing the weakness of his vain desires—had ever been Riddick's intent. And that forced him to reexamine once more just what the purpose had been in offering him that which he most desired—and more besides that Vaako had not even realized he wanted—only to walk away, leaving him with nothing but confusion.

Still, though he was as yet unsure what exactly Riddick wanted from him, Vaako had no doubt that the desire he had glimpsed in the other man had been very real—the _need _behind those offers genuine. And where Vaako had grown accustomed to ruling his own passions, as demanded by his faith, by contrast he could not imagine that the Furyan would bother to deny himself anything that he wanted for very long.

"It was too soon," Riddick said, suddenly.

And for a moment Vaako suffered the fear that the man might have read his mind—unlikely, though not entirely outside the realm of possibility. The quasi-deads, after all, possessed such talents. The energy required to harness those capabilities wasted their bodies beyond use, but it was possible that a being like the one Riddick had become might not suffer the same limitations. Vaako cast the theory aside, however, as he read what he could of Riddick's expression. No, Vaako thought, it was simply that their last encounter had been just as constantly on Riddick's mind as it had his...

And there was a surety in his voice—and behind his eyes, and in his stance—that gave the impression of one who had been waiting impatiently for some coveted thing that had finally come within his reach.

"What you wanted to know...it can't just be _told_," Riddick said, silver eyes staring intently at Vaako from his place on the throne. "I need you to _see _it, and before we didn't have the time."

In spite of every inch of Vaako's self-discipline and resolve, his heart had begun to race.

"And now...my Lord Marshal?" Vaako asked, dry mouthed, very nearly forgetting Riddick's title.

The anticipation threatened to strip him of his caution, and Vaako feared what Riddick's answer would be. Vaako felt as if his every past encounter with Riddick had been scouring him clean of his careful control. And, for the first time since a childhood he no longer remembered, he was terrified—of Riddick, of himself, of his own weakness—because he feared that, in that moment, Riddick might have asked for anything and Vaako would have given it over without hesitation.

On the dais Riddick stood, and slowly held out his hand.

"It's all yours, Vaako," Riddick said, lips drawing into a daring smirk, "if you haven't changed your mind."

Everything around him seemed to slow, yet at the same time Vaako knew he reached the Lord Marshal's side in fewer strides than the steps should have taken. Riddick's hand was startlingly cold as it rose up to touch his cheek. It felt odd—almost magnetic—as if simple contact with the other man's skin were pulling at something inside him. Yet the fingers themselves felt strangely insubstantial, as if the feather-light touch were slowly penetrating the barrier of Vaako's skin. And Vaako felt a metallic spark of fear when it dawned on him that he had witnessed the phenomenon before—

How many times had he seen Zhylaw rend the life from a man's body with the touch of his spectral hands?

Vaako barely had time to process this recognition before the full impact struck him. His eyes forced themselves shut as Riddick's touch blazed in his awareness—as bright as burning phosphorus, as cold as nitrogen.

Cold agony surged through him as his mind flooded with information—images, words, emotions—and it felt like he was being forced apart, splintering like glass into far too many pieces for him to hold on to. He felt like he was drowning in it, losing himself, like everything he was was slipping through his fingers. There were too many faces in his memory for him to recognize himself, too many names for him to know which one was his.

The only thing anchoring him was the memory of arms wrapped around him, of lips on his skin, and the echoing reality of the same.

Slowly—far too slowly—Vaako came back to himself. His body was shaking, and that there were tears on his face. He was on his knees—they both were—and his head was resting on Riddick's shoulder as the Furyan held him close. Face buried against the side of his neck as he drank in the scent of Vaako's skin, he was murmuring the sort of soft, meaningless sounds one used to soothe an animal. Finally, Riddick pulled away, lifting Vaako's chin so that their eyes could meet. His touch was still unnaturally cold, though the fingers no longer held the ferocious, soul-freezing bite. Riddick's eyes, as they searched his face, were as unreadable as ever, but the expression lifting the corner of his mouth held a tenderness of which Vaako never would have suspected him capable—a convict, a Furyan, Half-Dead leader of the Necromonger race—yet it was there all the same.

Vaako knew he should have felt ashamed to have shown such weakness before his Lord Marshal, but being held in Riddick's arms felt frighteningly like coming home. And when Riddick brought their mouths together, Vaako surrendered himself completely.

"You Necros think that emotions are a weakness," Riddick said to him a short time later, "but that thing that ties us together is strong—so strong that even death a thousand times over has never broken it."

His lips were faintly cool against the shell of Vaako's ear. Yet, while it was Riddick's voice, the words didn't quite seem like his. Vaako thought he heard a whisper of something else—some_one _else—just behind them...

("_Amabam, amo, te amabo semper et in aeternitatem._")

...someone achingly familiar...

("_Ma'salaama, sadiqi. Ila liqaa'..._")

...someone whose words he _had _heard a thousand times before...

("_Nat tyme ne deth ne fere of syn shal evere departe us tweyne. I wolde fayn forgo myn soules reste if alwey ye be myn..._")

...in a thousand different voices...

(_Wo hui yonyuan ai ni_, baby. I mean it. _Forever_.)

"What do you want from me?" Vaako asked him shakily, surprising himself by finding the words.

Because he knew—Vaako remembered every moment of their past (_pasts_) together that Riddick had just given him—but he still didn't _understand_.

"I want you," Riddick told him, softly, though the words were charged with a deadly intensity. "I want you to be _mine_, forever, just like you've always been. I want you to be my slave, and my equal. My friend, my shield brother, my partner, my lover, my equal—my salvation and my damnation. I want everything you've already given me, but only if you give it freely. And _I_ want to be _yours—_I'll lay the whole damned _universe_ at your feet. All you have to do is say _yes_."

The answer, when it came to his lips, rose up from the very bottom of his soul.

"_Yes_."

The whisper went unheard by any but the two of them, though the fate of the universe would soon turn upon its promise. Yet later that night, when Riddick made his move, Dame Vaako's dying screams were heard all the way across the Basilica ship.


End file.
